


this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

by theweightofmywords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:58:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweightofmywords/pseuds/theweightofmywords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Seamus, through the war. Written for 2015 HP Shipweeks on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the E.E Cumming's poem "[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]". I own nothing but this original work, based on characters that are not mine. Thank you, and enjoy.

**I.**

It had become somewhat of a running joke that Seamus Finnigan, fiery Irishman, small and wiry, somewhat reminiscent of a terrier, could not help but blow things up. For years, he thought, "Maybe Ollivander screwed up and gave me the wrong wand." Maybe he just wasn't a good wizard. He wondered if it was possible to be only partially magical; maybe his father's muggle genes were stronger than he thought.

Seamus Finnigan, the fiery Dublin boy who could not help but set things on fire, was convinced that he had finally managed to ignite his own body. Coursing pain seared his nerves, and despite his efforts to keep his jaw clenched shut, he opened it just barely and let out a scream. The scream sounded foreign, as if it did not belong to him.

_You are not here, this is not your body,_ he thought, his mind doing its best to help him survive. He heard Alecto Carrow's voice boom before his spine curved and twisted in pain once more. His mind, the one thing yet to be tainted, brought him elsewhere. To safety. To Dean.

"Take a picture of me with you," Seamus said. They were sitting in Dean's bedroom, their hands shyly intertwined. That was new for them, and so, it was enough. "For now," Seamus had thought, his face growing hot thinking about the potential for more than holding hands. Dean had just stuffed his backpack with clothes, a sleeping bag, sketchpads, dry foods, and maps. If Seamus tried hard enough, he could pretend that Dean was just going camping instead of going into hiding.

Dean kissed Seamus’ hand. “It’s already in there,” he murmured. “Do you have one of me?”

“You’re in here,” Seamus replied, knocking on his head. He didn’t tell him that he had already planned on stashing a magical picture of the two of them from the winter before, waving and smiling into the camera, in his pillowcase.

_You’re in here, Dean,_ Seamus thought as he screamed out in pain, his shirt drenched with cold sweat.

“That is enough,” he heard Snape announce. Too weak to stand, he lay on the classroom floor for a moment, and then, realizing his vulnerable position, he stood up as fast as he could and stumbled his way back to the Gryffindor tower. He felt dizzy and disoriented, and it was only with Sir Curduggen’s help that he found the portrait of the Fat Lady, who immediately swung the door open, tears in her eyes.

**II.**

Dean Thomas shivered and, putting his pencil down, blew hot air from his lungs onto his hands. Looking down at his sketchpad, he wondered what his drawing’s subject was doing. He wondered if he was eating dinner in the Great Hall and if he had chosen to sleep in his bed or if he had commandeered Dean’s old one instead. He wondered if he ever thought of him.

Dean looked down at his sketchpad again. Yet another drawing of Seamus Finnigan.

“He must be someone special for you to draw him every day,” a man named Ted Tonks observed. Dean and Ted, along with another muggle-born wizard named Dirk, were on the run together, hiding in barns and caves, in tents hidden by enchantments, in safe houses throughout the country. Dean liked Ted, who reminded him of his stepfather, with his kind eyes and lighthearted nature. Dean nodded in response to Ted’s observation.

“He’s at Hogwarts right now,” he said quietly.

“When this is over, you’ll be together again, I’m sure,” Ted replied, squeezing his shoulder gently.

Beginning to draw again, he thought about Seamus. It seemed the only thing he could do to keep going. When he felt like he’d freeze to death in the tent and fear paralyzed him as he lay awake at night, he would think about Seamus. His boisterous voice, the way his hair fell over his eyes, the weight of his head on Dean’s shoulder, the way his eyes twinkled the day after their first kiss. “I love you, Dean,” he had said that morning, a lopsided smile growing on his face. And, taking his hands, Seamus had added, “I really do.” At that, he had hidden his face in Dean’s chest, taking deep breaths, his shorter arms wrapping around his partner’s torso. “I love you too, Seamus,” Dean had whispered then, his eyes closing, as if to help him concentrate better on all that he was feeling then. He pulled away briefly, and tilting Seamus’ head up, he leaned down to kiss him. It was all so new then, and they should have felt excited at the development in their relationship. Their previous summers together were spent sitting by bonfires, going on walks through muggle London, going on holiday to the Irish seashore, and Dean had imagined how these things would seem different. Instead of sitting across from each other by the fire, he imagined their shoulders touching, their fingers interlaced. He imagined holding Seamus in his arms as he dragged him into the ocean. He imagined kissing him on the rooftop of his muggle apartment building. Dean’s heart had ached as he thought of how much they would miss because of the war; it was going to cheat them of what they had earned.

“It’s not fair,” Dean had mumbled against Seamus’ lips. He had felt surprised to feel tears in his eyes. Seamus, with his rough hands, his bitten nails, cupped his face. “No. It’s not,” he had said. “But this’ll be over someday, and we’ll have the rest of our lives then, yeah?”

It was this thought: the thought of having all that time together, the fantasy of waking up to a sun-filled room with Seamus, his familiar touch and smell, his voice saying, “Good morning,” that kept Dean alive. That motivated him to rage against Voldemort and his supporters. Coming back to reality, he looked up from his finished drawing and saw that the sun had set. Ted had built a small fire and was roasting some potatoes they had stolen from town. Dirk was standing guard by the tent’s opening.

“Hungry?” Ted asked.

Dean approached the fire. “Starving,” he replied.

**III.**

“Where is Harry Potter?” Amycus Carrow demanded. Seamus struggled against the magical bindings.

“Fuck you,” Seamus muttered, bracing himself as Amycus delivered a curse which felt like someone was slamming a brick against his head.

“Tell me what you know!” Amycus squeezed the bindings tighter. Seamus felt his head being pulled back, exposing his neck.

“I don’t know anything. I haven’t seen Harry Potter since last year.” He felt the magical binding press against his windpipe. “I swear, I don’t know,” he wheezed, desperation in his voice.

“Maybe you know something about Dean Thomas?” Amycus hissed.

Seamus felt his blood run cold. With the steadiest voice he could muster, he replied, “I haven’t seen him since last June. We haven’t been in contact.”

“Liar!” the Death Eater screamed, and once again, Seamus felt the curse hit his face, his head flying backwards. The taste of blood filled his mouth, and nausea swept over him as he felt a tooth come loose. He spit it out on the floor.

“How dare you spread your filthy traitorous blood where I stand!” the professor screeched.

Before he could deliver another curse, Seamus cried out. “Please, I don’t know anything!” 

He had begun weeping, fat tears running down his swollen and bloodied face. “Please stop,” he continued to plead, feeling ashamed at this sign of weakness. 

Amycus gazed at Seamus, his mouth hardening into a thin line. “We’re watching you, Finnigan. It would be wise to follow orders from now on,” he said coldly, as he undid the bindings. And, for what seemed like the hundredth time, Seamus stumbled back to Gryffindor tower, clutching the walls as his vision was impaired due to his eyes being swollen shut. He couldn’t stop crying as he thought of Dean. The fact that they knew about him, that he was on their radar, was enough to make Seamus feel weak with fear.

“Have you heard from Dean?” Neville asked later that night. He too appeared bruised and broken; the two boys lay in their beds, too hurt to move.

“No,” Seamus said, his voice flat. He looked out the window and saw the full moon. He thought of Dean staring at the same moon. He imagined Dean’s arm draping across his shoulder, of Dean’s hands washing away the blood on his face. He thought of Dean’s breath in his ear as they fell asleep, of his heartbeat as he rest his head on his chest. Rolling over onto his side, he winced in pain. And then he thought of Dean in his sleeping bag, alone in a cave somewhere. He thought of Dean running away from Death Eaters, his sweet and kind muggle-born boy, afraid and alone.

He thought of Dean until it hurt too much to think of him at all, and then he fell asleep.

**IV.**  

Dean didn’t have a wand. He didn’t have a wand, and yet he found himself walking through the tunnel from Aberforth’s to Hogwarts, to where he knew a battle would ensue. But he continued to walk because the tunnel would also lead him to Seamus.

“Are we almost there?” he asked, his heart racing. Beside him, Luna looked up, a knowing smile on her face. “Yes, Dean,” she replied, “I’m sure Seamus will already be in the Room.”

Dean gave a nervous smile. He felt silly that his mind’s first thought was of Seamus when there was a battle looming ahead. But just then, a door swung open, and he found himself standing in the Room of Requirement. His eyes barely had time to scan the crowd when he heard someone yell.

Seamus ran towards him and embraced him with such force that Dean stumbled backwards. Dean felt himself collapse to his knees in relief, his arms pulling Seamus closer and closer. He inhaled the familiar scent of his hair, his eyes closing as he laid his head on Seamus’ shoulder. He felt Seamus’ smaller body fit against his, his arms wrapped around his broader torso. He wanted to memorize this moment in his mind, and he closed his eyes, running his hands over Seamus’ back, clutching his face. “You’re here,” he whispered. “I’m here,” Seamus replied, his voice shaking. Their lips brushed as they knelt in front of each other, momentarily oblivious to the other students a few feet away. Dean pulled away to look at Seamus’ face, and as he did so, he grew hot with anger.

“Who did this to you?” he asked. Seamus, with his broken nose and bruised yellow eye, split lip, and swollen cheek, looked down.

“The Carrows. They’re the Dark Arts professors,” he said quietly. Dean’s jaw clenched, and he stood up. Seamus stood next to him, his bruised face cast downwards.

“They tried to make us practice on other students. But I refused. I wouldn’t do it,” he explained, reaching for Dean’s hand. They locked eyes then. Dean noticed the scar on Seamus’ neck, the fear in Seamus’ eyes. His own eyes filled with tears, which he blinked back furiously.

They stood together and listened to Harry argue with Neville about getting involved in the fight. More and more people kept streaming in through the tunnel’s door. As he stood there listening to Harry try to stop them from joining him, he couldn’t help but think of Neville, Seamus, Ginny, Luna, and even people like Michael Corner and Terry Boot taking up the cause the entire year. Glancing at Seamus’ face again, he felt anger like he had never felt before.

“We’re fighting, aren’t we?” he called out, holding up his galleon. He wanted to find the Carrows and murder them. He didn’t care if he didn’t have a wand; he would do it with his bare hands if it came down to that. But just to make sure he stood a chance of getting in arms reach of them, he knew he needed a wand. “I’ll have to get a wand, though,” he added.

“You haven’t got a wand?” Seamus asked.

“Snatchers took it when I got caught.” He noticed worry etched across Seamus’ face.

“I won’t let you fight without a wand,” Seamus said sternly.

“You won’t _let_ me? I’m fighting! This battle is important to me!” he replied, dropping his hand.

“It’s important to me, too! But you can’t fight. You have to stay here!” Seamus was turning red with anger.

“I won’t keep hiding while you go off and fight. I don’t care what I have to do, I’ll kill them with my own hands for touching you—“

“I can’t lose you!” Seamus shouted. Dean blinked then and realized that Seamus eyes were shining with tears. “I can’t. I need you alive, Dean,” he whispered.

“What about me? I’m supposed to just let you go?” Dean asked, his voice gentler, as he placed his hands on Seamus’ shoulders. “We go together. It’s the only way that makes sense.”

Seamus looked away for a moment before nodding. “We need to get you a wand. Do what you have to do to get one. You stay by my side, okay?” he said, his hands shaking. Dean grabbed them and felt them become steady and still.

“I won’t ever leave,” he murmured, pulling Seamus to him, the shorter man’s head resting against his chest, close enough to hear his heartbeat. “For you. For us. For this,” he thought. They stood together briefly, suspended in time, before they went off to battle.

**V.**

Seamus woke up to find his back covered in sweat, the summer sun turning the bedroom into a greenhouse. Flopping onto his stomach, he turned and saw Dean, his eyes blinking awake.

“Good morning,” Seamus said quietly. The sun peeked through their blinds, casting striped shadows on their bare torsos. “You like like a zebra,” Dean mumbled, his eyes fully open now. “C’mere, my zebra,” he smiled, placing his hands on Seamus’ hips.

Seamus inched closer but held Dean at an arm’s length. Staring intently at Dean’s face, he began blinking slowly. He wanted to memorize every detail; the way his eyelashes seemed to reach his cheekbones. The shadows the morning light cast on his face. His teeth, the faint freckles on his face. The darker flecks in his brown eyes. The dimple in his left cheek which was slightly more pronounced than the other one. He blinked slowly after each observation.

“Shay, what are you doing?” Dean asked. His fingers were making small circles along Seamus’ side, and Seamus shivered.

“I’m taking pictures with my mind. That way, you’re in here,” he explained, knocking lightly on his head. Dean pulled him closer and kissed him. At first it was gentle but it deepened, and before long, they both felt the room grow hot with more than just the sun. Rolling on top of Seamus, Dean began trailing kisses down his neck.

“It’s like I can’t get enough of you. You’ve been with me my whole life, and I still want more,” Seamus mumbled breathlessly, clutching him closer to him.

“You have me,” Dean replied. _“But this’ll be over someday, and we’ll have the rest of our lives then, yeah?”_ Dean recalled Seamus’ words. And with a silent prayer of gratitude to the gods, Dean continued his descent, his mouth leading the trail down Seamus’ body, both familiar and new. They were in “the rest of their lives” now; they were ready to begin.


End file.
